Desperate Measures (3 page)

“Pete, wake up. Shhhh, don't make any noise.” Pete stirred sleepily and then was instantly awake when he saw Barnaby's face.

“What's wrong?” he asked fearfully.

Barney told him.

“Are they going to put me in jail?”

“They don't put kids in jail, Pete,” Barney said. “They're here to make you go with those ladies. It's like a block party in front of your house. We have to be quiet.”

“I really love you, Barney, as much as I love Harry and Lily.”

“I love you too. Listen to me, Pete. If anything goes wrong and they find us ... I want you to remember what I said: If they take you away, I'll come get you when you're sixteen.”

“Will your stepdad whip you for hiding me up here?” Pete asked.

“Yep. I don't care. I hate him. He's not my father. He hits my mother sometimes. Don't tell anyone I told you that, okay?”

“Sure. I won't tell.”

“Do you want to know something, Pete?” Pete's head bobbed up and down. “Do you know what I want to do more than anything in the whole world?”

“Find your dad?”

“Yeah, but after that I want to ... I want to stick my face right up in Dave Watkins's face and say kiss my ass!”

Pete clamped his hands over his mouth so he wouldn't laugh out loud. Barney did the same. They rolled on the floor, pounding each other on the back, their faces red, tears rolling down their cheeks.

Barney sobered almost immediately when he heard voices in his backyard. He put his finger to his lips when he heard his mother's sweet voice. “Barney went to the pond to fish. He took his fishing pole. He loves to fish. He left about half an hour ago. No, I haven't seen Pete all day. I just want to hug that little boy. It's so sad. Barnaby cried all night. If I see Pete, I'll send him home.”

“Okay, so I cried,” Barney said quietly. “I knew I was going to miss you, so I cried last night to get it out of the way. I didn't know she heard me. Listen, we need a plan. I'm not letting them take you without a fight.”

Pete's eyes lit up. “What kind of plan?”

“Look, the only reason you and I can get up this tree is because we're both part monkey. My mother said that's the reason and mothers don't lie. Those cops and that lady with the ugly shoes can't climb up here. The branches are so big and thick at the top, they can't come at us from one of the other trees. We're kind of safe. Let's see what we have here to use as weapons.”

“They'll get a ladder,” Pete whimpered.

“Then we'll do what they do in the movies, we'll lean out and push it backward. This is our castle, our domicile. I learned that in school. No one is allowed to invade someone's castle. You don't have a home anymore, so I'm giving you this one. This is your castle, Pete Sorenson. We're gonna defend it.”

The standoff, when it came, wasn't anything like the boys expected. The fire department arrived at the same time Dave Watkins came home from work.

“Are you ready?” Barney asked, his voice shaking in fear.

“Yeah.” In his hands Pete held a pillow that had been slit down the middle. He was holding the slit closed with both hands. Barney held a can of yellow paint in one hand and a can of black tar they'd used to seal the cracks in the wood. It was almost full, all soft and gooey and dark as licorice. Two more pillows were on the floor, with slits down the middle.

“Get your ass out of that tree house or I'm coming up to get you,” Dave Watkins shouted menacingly. “I mean it, Barnaby. You are interfering with the law, and I'm only going to say this once: Come down. Now, I know you're up there, so come down now before I get the strap.”

Barney looked at Pete. Both boys shook their heads. Barney stuck his head out between the burlap curtains. Barney's eyes rolled back in his head, then his fist shot in the air. Pete watched bug-eyed when his brother, his best friend in the whole world, yelled at the top of his lungs, “Kiss my ass, Dave Watkins!”

“Yeah,” Pete shouted, “kiss his ass!”

“He's coming up the tree,” Barney said. “There's a fireman right behind him. He's sticking something in the tree. Get set, go!”

Yellow paint, black tar and feathers rained downward. Dave Watkins slipped and fell backward, knocking the fireman loose.

Pete clapped his hands gleefully. More feathers showered the air. Pete sent the tar can sailing through the air. The yellow paint can followed.

“All right, boys, that's your fun for the day,” the fireman said. “Now, let's go down the tree like good little boys.”

“Make me,” Pete said.

“Yeah, make him,” Barney said.

An hour later Pete and Barney were on the ground.

Violet Sims fussed over both boys as she watched the ambulance attendants lift her husband onto a stretcher. She heard someone say both his legs were broken. She felt like cheering. Instead, she hugged her son and Pete.

Violet stooped down until she was eye level with Pete. “Honey, I want you to be very brave. I know you don't want to go, and if there were any way I could keep you, I would, but I can't. Barney and I love you very much. Time will go fast, and before you know it you'll be all grown up. I know that's hard to believe right now. Do your best, Pete.” She kissed him soundly before he was led off by one of the firemen. Tears puddled in his eyes.

“Pete,” Barney hissed, “stop crying.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said, but I just changed my mind. You can't cry after six. If they see you cry, they'll think they can get over on you, you hear me? Dry your eyes and be through with it.” Then he leaned over and whispered in his friend's ear, “We gave them a hell of a fight. Always remember that.”

“Do you think my mom and dad saw what we did, Barney?” Pete whispered back.

“Heck yeah. Bet they're clapping their hands. You be tough now, you hear me? I'll never forget you, you little squirt. I'll make sure Harry and Lily are well taken care of. Go on now,” he said gruffly.

“Okay, Barney. Don't forget you're gonna come for me.”

“I won't forget, squirt. A promise is a promise.”

Up close Helen Andrews looked meaner and uglier, if that was possible, Pete decided. “Where's my surfboard?” he demanded belligerently.

“It's in the car, honey,” the lady in the blue dress said.

“You apologize right now to all these police officers and firemen for making them come here to get you out of that disgusting tree,” Helen Andrews said nastily.

Pete raised his head to stare up at the social worker. His index finger beckoned her to drop down to his height. She did so. Pete pushed his face up against hers, remembering Barney's words. When they were eyeball to eyeball, he said, “Kiss my ass!” and immediately danced out of the way. The lady in the blue dress smiled. The fireman turned his head, his eyes dancing in glee. The cop pretended he had a spot on his blue shirt.

Pete climbed in the car and sat down next to his surfboard. “I'm sorry, Mom and Dad. I did it for Barney.”

Pete Sorenson was almost ten years old before he was
able to make a serious attempt at reaching Barney. It wasn't that he didn't think about his blood brother; he did, every day of his life, and he always remembered him in his prayers at night. He simply wasn't permitted to do much of anything but chores, his homework, more chores, and doing his best to survive in a foster home filled with other foster children, all older, all bigger and stronger than he was. It was a rare day when he went to bed with a full stomach, rarer still to go to bed without a bump, bruise, cut, or scrape. His foster parents, a couple name Bernie and Blossom Nelson, said he was incorrigible. The children all knew that the Nelsons didn't even know what the word meant. They also knew that all their foster parents wanted was the money the state paid them for their keep. The money, after the week's menu was planned, went for beer, wine, and bingo. If the food ran out before the next check, they ate peanut butter on bread. The peanut butter came in gallon jars and they never ran out of it. Sometimes they had to cut the mold off the bread.

Pete hated the Nelsons and he hated the other foster-care children. Some days he even hated himself. He wrote long letters to Barney that he kept in the back of his geography book, letters full of love and longing, of wanting to belong, that never got mailed because he didn't have an address.

Pete Sorenson dreamed a lot. At first he dreamed about Barney, almost every night. Then he started to dream about his faceless, nameless uncle and how his uncle was going to come for him. When he wearied of those dreams, he dreamed, in a thousand different dreams, of ways to kill Bernie and Blossom Nelson.

He hated the way they smelled. Bernie always had a strange odor coming from his pants, and Blossom smelled like she hadn't changed her underwear. They sweat a lot too, and made terrible noises when they ate. Bernie slurped his coffee and beer. Blossom's two front teeth were missing, so she made whistling sounds when she ate or drank, which was all the time. Pete hated everything about his life. He longed for the day Barney would come for him.

Now, Pete was in the room he shared with three girls, licking his wounds, but a victor nonetheless. One of the older boys, Dick Stevenson, had tried to take his surfboard out of his room. He'd fought like a tiger and told Bernie Nelson he was going to call the social worker and tell her how he was treated. “They'll put you in jail!” he screeched at the fat, balding man. He'd gotten a beating, but that was nothing new. He still had his surfboard, and that was all that mattered.

He lived in Asbury Park now, a long way from where he'd lived in Iselin, around the corner from Barney's house.

Pete didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he heard the back door close. The room he shared was over the kitchen. That was another thing. Boys were supposed to be with boys and girls with girls, but the Nelsons didn't care. In a way, he didn't care either, since the girls who were his roommates were little and he kind of helped them. They didn't touch his surfboard either. His breath exploded in a loud whoosh. The Nelsons were going to Saturday afternoon bingo at St. Stephen's. He was supposed to clean up the yard, take out the trash, and peel the potatoes for supper. Bernie wanted the fence whitewashed, but Pete wasn't going to do any of those things. He was going down to the beach and try and hitch a ride to Iselin. He wanted to see Barney. He
needed
to see Barney. He wanted to talk to Barney's mother, to ask her if she'd call the lady in the blue dress so he could be sent somewhere else. Barney's mother would help him if she could.

With all the courage he could muster, Pete walked brazenly out the front door and down the walk. Then he ran, as fast as he could, to the beach, where he spent an hour walking up to people and asking them if they lived anywhere near Iselin. It was four o'clock when two young girls said they lived in Rahway and would give him a ride.

When the girls dropped him off an hour later on Green Street, he was so giddy he didn't know what to do. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk flapping his arms up and down until he could get his bearings. It all looked wonderful, and vaguely familiar. He thought he recognized the hardware store, the movie theater. He crossed the street and walked down one of the side streets until he found the street he was looking for. He saw his old house. Tears misted his vision for a moment. An old man was rocking in a chair on the front porch. He looked like he was asleep. A tear trickled down Pete's cheek. He wiped it away. He ran, then, around the corner till he came to Barney's house. He went up the steps to the front porch and rang the bell. A man with a beard, holding a motorcycle helmet in one hand and a beer in the other, opened the door. “Yeah?” he drawled.

“Is Barney here or Mrs. Sims?”

“No. They moved away. I bought this house last year. You the boy's friend?”

“Yes. My name's Pete Sorenson. Do you know where they moved?” he asked, his heart hammering in his chest.

“No kid, they didn't say. Mrs. Sims took the boy and left. You want Dave, he's living over Flip's Bar, last I heard. Don't think they told him where they were going, though.”

He wanted to cry. “Did you know Barney?” he whispered.

“Just the last couple of days is all. He looked like a nice kid. He showed me his tree house. Bet you played in it with him.”

“Yes, I did.” The tears dripped down his cheeks, he couldn't help it. “I have to find him. I need Mrs. Sims to do something for me.”

“Look, Pete, come on in. Do you want a soda pop or something?”

“Yes, sir, that would be nice. Thank you.”

They sat at the kitchen table and talked man to man. Pete told him his story. The man listened, his beer forgotten. “That's down right shitful!” he said when Pete was finished. “What's going to happen to you when you go back?”

Pete shrugged, and then he stood up and lifted up his T-shirt.

“Jesus Christ, you're only nine years old!” the man sputtered. “Now listen, you stay right here. My brother's a cop. I'm gonna call him. He'll know what to do. Don't be afraid, Pete. Cops are good people. He'll know how to get hold of the lady in the blue dress. I want you to trust me. Listen, there's lots of food in the fridge. Help yourself. Just stay here. I want your promise.”

“Okay, I promise,” Pete said wearily. “What's your name?”

“Duke.”

Pete nodded. “I like that name. What's your brother's name?”

“Nathaniel. We call him Nat.”

At seven o'clock Pete was reunited with Harriet Wardlaw from Child Welfare. He told his story a third time, and then showed the whipping marks on his back. He let her hug him because she smelled so sweet and clean, the way his mother used to smell. He cried again. The cop offered him a handkerchief.

Pete was treated to a large bowl of ice cream while a flurry of phone calls were made in the living room.

“Okay, slick, this is how it's going down,” the biker said, ruffling Pete's hair. “I'm going to give you the ride of your life on my Harley. Nat and Miss Wardlaw are going to be right behind us. You and the others are leaving Bernie and Blossom's abode. For good. They'll be hauled up on charges. We'll try and find your friend Barney for you. My brother said he'd do that on his off time. We're not making any promises, though. Miss Wardlaw is also going to try and find your uncle. Again, no promises. Is this okay with you?”

“Where am I going to go?”

“Don't know that yet. Hopefully, it will be someplace good.”

It was the ride of his life. He loved every second of it. He particularly loved the way the Harley roared into Bernie's backyard, the one he hadn't cleaned, and then swerved right next to the back steps. “Yo, Bernie!” Duke bellowed as Pete slid off the seat.

“What the hell!” Bernie Nelson said, coming out to the small back porch. “Who are you? Get the fuck off my property. You!” he shouted, reaching for Pete. “Are going to feel the back of my hand!”

“Wanna bet?” Duke drawled as he stepped off the bike. He reached for Bernie's shirt, which was missing two buttons, and yanked him from the third porch step onto the ground. “You were saying, lard-ass ... Ah, I see, you only talk big around little kids, eh?”

“What's going on here, Bernie?” Blossom said, trundling out to the back porch, the children behind her.

A blue Ford Mustang came to a halt behind Duke's motorcycle. Harriet Wardlaw got out, walked over to the Nelsons and handed them a folded paper. “I'm taking the children,” she said. “All of them. Get their things. Now!”

To one of the little girls, she said, “What did you have for dinner tonight?”

“Mashed potatoes,” the girl replied in a voice that was barely audible.

“What else, honey?”

“That's all,” the little girl said.

A second and then a third car pulled to the curb, and finally a patrol car that said Asbury Park Police came to a stop.

“How about McDonald's for everyone?” Duke boomed. “As much as you can eat! They're giving prizes this week.”

“Who the hell are you?” Bernie blustered.

“I'm an architect. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time today. I think you might say this is a case of divine providence. But this guy, the one with the gun, is my brother, who just happens to be a cop. You of course know Miss Wardlaw. The men behind her are your town's finest, as you will find out shortly.”

Harriet Wardlaw turned to Pete and asked quietly, “Where's your surfboard?”

Pete smiled. “You remember my surfboard?”

“Honey, I remember everything about you. Hurry up, I don't want you here a minute longer.”

Pete ran into the house to get his things. He was back on the porch in under seven minutes. For the first time in a long time, he felt happy.

 

Months later Pete received a letter in the mail. It was from Nathaniel Bickmore, Duke's brother. He said he'd been unable to locate Mrs. Sims and Barney. He thought Mrs. Sims crossed over the state line to get away from David Watkins, and probably changed her name so he couldn't find her and Barney. “I'll do my best and keep on it in my spare time,” he wrote. “We're doing our best to try and find your uncle, too. I just wanted you to know we haven't forgotten you. Duke said to say hello.” It was signed, “Your friend, Nathaniel.”

Pete was in his new home, a pleasant enough place, with an older couple who were childless. He had his own room, with a small-screen television and a portable radio. He had his very own desk and a set of encyclopedias. His foster parents were Hiram and Etty Penshaw. They were stern and unsmiling, neither kind nor unkind. It was basically a house of silence. Etty read all the time. Hiram puttered in his workshop after he put in his time at his job. The food was good and plentiful, and there was always dessert. Pete even got an allowance of fifty cents a week. He'd saved almost all of it. If he knew where Barney was, he could go to a phone booth and call him. He had new clothes that actually fit him and were ironed. He looked like everyone else at school.

He still didn't have any friends, but that was by his own choice. He didn't want to make friends and then have his guts ripped out again. Every night he prayed for Barney. He wondered if Barney prayed for him or if he'd forgotten about him.

Pete was twelve when Nathaniel said he thought he had a lead on his uncle. It didn't lead to anything. When he was fourteen, Mr. Penshaw died and Mrs. Penshaw decided to move to Georgia with her sister. Harriet Wardlaw was called again and Pete was placed in a third foster home. Etty shook his hand, handed him an envelope, and then walked away. There was a hundred dollars in crisp twenty-dollar denominations in the envelope.

Pete moved in with the Krugers and knew right away it wasn't going to work out, because the Krugers had a son of their own, Dwight, who was a year younger than Pete. They had wanted the state money so they could lavish material things on Dwight. He lasted exactly seven months before he told Otis Kruger to kiss his ass standing up.

The Menalis family wasn't much better, but he managed to last there for a year and a half. He was about to utter his favorite expression to Avrim Menalis when Nathaniel Bickmore arrived in person, to tell Pete he believed he'd found his uncle. A meeting was arranged for the following day.

Pete drank a gallon of coffee at the fast food restaurant he worked in after school. He didn't want to go home, so he worked an extra shift, daydreaming about the meeting. Nathaniel hadn't said anything substantial about the man who he thought was his uncle. Maybe he was finally going to belong to someone again. Maybe his uncle would love him.

Avrim Menalis and his son Nevil arrived at the restaurant just as Pete finished serving a group of teenagers who were out past their curfew. Nevil looked mean, like he had a burr in his shorts. His father's eyes looked like cold steel.

“We'd like some food here,” Nevil said, his voice surly, his eyes contemptuous. Because he lived in their house, Pete showed respect to the boy, who was his own age. In his opinion, Nevil would never amount to anything. His marks in school were either low D's or F's. He had great difficulty reading whole sentences, and his vocabulary was mostly guttural grunts. His father said Nevil didn't need a lot of book learning because he was going to work in the family's meat packing business in Jersey City. All you needed was a strong back, powerful legs, and hands capable of removing a side of beef from a steel hook.

Pete took pride in his appearance. He was well over six feet tall, and he'd put on a good amount of weight. He not only looked healthy, he was healthy. He worked out in the mini gym in back of the restaurant, which his boss, Josh Philbin, used early in the morning. He was excelling in school and was always on the honor roll. He'd saved money, with which he hoped to buy a secondhand car. He knew now he could make it on his own if he had to. Josh had taken him under his wing and even offered him a room in his own house if things with the Menalis family ever got out of hand. The offer was a security cushion for Pete, but he knew he'd probably never accept it. Staying with the Menalis family and working off his keep was a point of honor with him.